HarryJoeBob Johnson and the Adventure in England
by amimochi123
Summary: hillbilly!Harry, gift-fic for Aisling-Siobhan. Surprisingly NOT crack. The Order finally finds Harry, but he's quite different than they expected. Too bad he doesn't care. FG/HP. MPREG. Short multi-chaptered fic.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. I do not make any profit off of the writing of this fanfiction.

**Harry-Joe-Bob Johnson and the Adventure in England**

**Prologue**

Harry-Joe-Bob Greyback, formerly Harry-Joe-Bob Johnson, formerly Harry Potter, sat at the kitchen table mixing cornmeal for Hush Puppies. Really, the best Hush Puppies came when you took corn you had grown yourself and then ground on your own, too, but there were just some things that had to be forgiven. Like sitting down to mix the cornmeal because his ankles were swollen; and anyway standing made his knees hurt, damnit. Though now, come to think of it, sitting may not have been the best idea, as the tray was all the way across the kitchen, and sitting down and getting up was a bit of an issue at this point, considering he was 34 weeks pregnant.

Sighing, Harry-Joe-Bob, or just Harry for short, continued to mix until his arms got tired. Resigned that he would have to haul himself out of the chair at some point, but resolved that it would not be anytime soon, Harry stared out the kitchen window. It was it was hotter'n a June bride outside, as it had been for the past week. The sun shone brightly, and Harry cursed it. It made everything all hot. And being pregnant, he couldn't use magic. Harry felt like a big, sweaty, pregnant pig. No, a whale. A sweaty, pregnant whale… Did whales sweat? Okay, a sweaty, pregnant pig-whale.

Besides that, it was a beautiful day—though Harry really didn't like to admit that, as he was not in a good mood. Where the hell was his husband?

Harry flexed his swollen toes irritably. Being inside, he felt free to be as barefooted as a yard dog. His feet were so swollen that he could hardly fit them in his shoes anymore, not like he could see his feet anyway. He should have waved goodbye to them when he had a chance.

Harry was dressed for comfort. He was the epitome of 'barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen,' if he did say so himself. He was even wearing dungaree overalls that were big enough to stretch over his heavily pregnant belly. Screw anyone that laughed at him. He'd sure let his husband maim them. The overalls were the only thing that he could wear without wearing a belt, or feeling like a high-falutin' woman in elastic-waist banded pants. He didn't need to feel like even _more _of a woman, now that he had to sit down to pee because he couldn't tell if he was aiming at the toilet correctly around his belly. _That _was plumb embarrassing the first couple of times…

Anyway, he was hot, damnit, and wearing overalls with no shirt both kept him cool and didn't show off his stomach obscenely. Fenrir told him that the bulge was _a beautiful sight, _but no matter how much he adored the child inside of him, he still couldn't help but thinking that was a load of horse pucky. He felt so uncomfortable, _unnatural, _even, with no top on at all.

Sighing, Harry shoved himself up out of the chair and waddled the batter to the counter. It was maybe a little too watery, but whatever. He blamed the corn.

As he began to roll the Hush Puppies, Harry's thoughts drifted to his parents. He wished he would be with his Ma and Pa, but at this point it was pretty darn near impossible. It was the first place they would have looked for him. From what little he had seen outside of their cottage, where they were now was a nice enough place, but it just wasn't home, with Ma and Pa.

Harry had turned to retrieve another tray for the rolled Hush Puppies when his stomach collided with the cornmeal mix and sent the entire bowl, contents and all, crashing to the floor.

Harry stared at it in horror. Yes, it hadn't been the best batch he had made, but now it was on the floor. After the initial shock wore away, he was left only feeling pissed off. He was so fat, he couldn't even bend down to wipe off the Gol-darned floor. He couldn't even fucking tie his own shoes anymore, and even sitting down and getting up had become a chore. He was always calling Fenrir for help: help out of a chair, putting on shoes and socks, getting something from a high shelf, and picking up things from the ground. Fenrir even had to get all the food and necessities, in case Harry was noticed in town. And Fenrir ended up going often, due to Harry's nagging cravings. And all that on top of his own responsibilities. Hell's bells.

Harry stared at the fallen cornmeal, contemplating picking it up with his toes, when it occurred to him, just how helpless he was. For Harry, who had always prided himself in being hard-working and strong (though his muscles had never been defined like a model's) being so helpless was a tough blow.

Harry could feel the pressure building behind his eyes before he burst out crying.

Oh yeah, and he _hated _the mood swings.

The idea that he was crying because he hated crying both made Harry laugh and cry all the harder. He felt so angry and helpless and frustrated all at once.

Harry heard the floo activate, and tried to stifle his sobs with a mealy hand, though all he ended up accomplishing was smearing corn meal on his face.

A couple seconds later, Fenrir strode into the kitchen, a large smile on his face. Though as soon as he saw Harry, standing at the counter sobbing and with cornmeal smeared on his face, the smile dropped, fast as all get-out.

"What's wrong, Sweet Pea?"

Harry pointed at the fallen cornmeal with a grubby hand and tried to explain, though it came out more like, "Hush…Pu-pu-pu-puhuppies-- roon'd anI re-re-rehealized… I ca-candooanyfing and yor… al-haways havinta help me-hee… anI juss feelso he-heh-helpless! Ah-hall the time!"

oooooooooo

Fenrir had, by much trial and error, come to realize that at times like these it was best to not do or say anything (the words "Don't touch that! That's exactly what got me this-- this Gol-darn fat in the first place! I-- I'm not just some _thing _you can _fuck _and get pregnant! I can't believe you…!" came to mind). Sparing a quick glare at the fallen Hush Puppies, for that was pretty much the only part of Harry's rant he had understood and therefore it was surely at fault, Fenrir did the only thing he could--held Harry. He folded the heavily pregnant and sobbing male into his arms and rubbed his back.

Knowing he could do nothing, for now, he whispered comforting words into his mate's ear. Luckily, the words "Don't worry, it's just cornmeal," didn't make it out of his mouth, though it was a near thing.

When Harry had calmed, the werewolf pulled away and tilted his mate's head up, wiping away tears.

Harry's face was red, his eyes and nose especially blotchy. Fenrir wiped away the snot running down his mate's nose and looked at the sheepish expression on his face.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes, much. I'm sorry," Harry replied shamefacedly.

"No, you don't have to be sorry," Fenrir said, and took the pregnant man by the hand. "C'mon, I'll give you a foot rub."

Fenrir led his now completely happy and smiling mate to the couch. Inwardly he rolled his eyes fondly at the sudden change in emotion.

As he rubbed his pregnant mate's feet, Fenrir contemplated the best way to transition to the reason he had come home so happy. It was probably best to do it gently, as Harry had already had an emotional day. He glanced at Harry, noticing the male drifting off, his head nodding forward and eyes closed. Much to Fenrir's horror, before he could stop himself, the words had somehow blurted themselves out of his mouth.

"It's done. The war is over."

Fenrir realized, as Harry kicked him hard in the chin in surprise, that he never was good at transitions.

* * *

Anyone seen the new HP movie? How did they make such a hot actor into such an ugly werewolf??

Anyway, HAPPY BIRTHDAY AISLING-SIOBHAN!! Here's the hillbilly!Harry fic you've been bugging me about. I hope you like it. To everyone else: blame her for no updates in Non!

****ETA: **This will be a short multi-chaptered fic (yes, they do exist, evidently) because it was supposed to be a one-shot and decided not to be. Therefore don't complain if there isn't as much character development as you'd like!

REVIEW, please!!


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. I do not make any profit off of the writing of this fanfiction.

**Harry-Joe-Bob Johnson and the Adventure in England**

**Chapter 1  
**

The rising sun crested over the top of a low hill. Corn stalks, their color bleached a dull green in the pale morning light, stretched their ears of corn up towards the sky. It was so peaceful. To his left, a rooster crowed… for the thirteenth time. It was darn near time for a good roast chicken today.

"Harry-Joe-Bob, git up! It's time to feed Samantha and Herbert!"

A figure on the roof scrambled up to a sitting position, arms and legs flailing. Harry-Joe-Bob took the piece of straw he had been chewing on out of his mouth and turned to the window.

"Okay, Ma! I'll be right thurr!"

Harry-Joe-Bob dusted off his dungarees and climbed from the roof back in through his window. As he went to put on his cap, that dog-goned rooster crowed again. Harry-Joe-Bob sent it a glare through his window.

"Harry-Joe-Bob!"

"Yeah!"

Harry-Joe-Bob thundered down the stairs, as only a teenaged boy can do. Especially one as big as Harry-Joe-Bob. He was as big as a horse and twice as smart. He had come to his parents but a li'l small thing, but three (sometimes four) square meals a day and working on the farm had ensured his growth. Now Harry-Joe-Bob was one of the biggest fellas in his class… not that that was saying much, as his birthday, being in summer, had just happened to be just after the cut off for going up to the next grade, and therefore he was literally the oldest kid in his class. Ah, well.

As he entered the kitchen, his Ma pointed to a bucket just outside the door, without even looking up from minding the grits.

"The slop's righ' there, jus' finished. And don't forget to rotate the pumpkins, neither."

"Okay, Ma," Harry-Joe-Bob said dutifully and stepped out into the morning.

His white cotton tee strained around his arms as he picked up the large bucket of slop. Though his muscles weren't defined by any means, Harry-Joe-Bob prided himself on the strength he had earned through hours of hard work, and he purposely bought shirts that were maybe a bit too small in order to emphasize that. Some might call it vanity, but he reckoned he just knew what he looked good in, and nothing was going to stop him. He weren't going to dress in a gunny sack cause of their words. They were just jealous that his ass looked so good in his pants, anyway.

"Su_eeeeeeeeeeeeee_! C'mon! Who wants some food?"

A melee of grunts filled the air, most of which came from Samantha. Lately she had been squirmin' like a worm in hot ashes when it came to feeding time, and Harry-Joe-Bob figured she was pregnant again.

Samantha was already at the trough, having pushed Herbert out of the way with her body, which was some feat considering his size. Harry-Joe-Bob knew not to get in the way of true love, and immediately poured the slop into the trough. As the two pigs went at it, he picked out his favorite shovel (he would swear up and down that it picked up the mud that much better), and began to muck out the pen.

When the two pigs were finished eating, a happily sated Samantha came waddling over to him. He always was her favorite.

"C'mon Samantha, give'ss some sugar," he said, leaning on the shovel for balance as he bent down to her level.

Harry-Joe-Bob was leaning down, and Samantha leaning up for their customary kiss on the cheek, when three loud pops, rather like the sound of a greased piglet coming unstuck from a pipe, came from behind him. Startled, Harry-Joe-Bob spun around, bumping accidentally against Samantha, and lost his balance. He teetered for a little bit on one foot before landing heavily in the mud.

Harry-Joe-Bob stared at the three figures in shock-- shock at having tripped, shock at being covered in mud, and shock at their odd way of dress. He knew wizards in other countries dressed differently, but what were they doing in his pig pen? The teen racked his brain for any mention of a visit, or any rule breaking he might have done lately, and came up blank. Their sudden appearance, and right before his 17th birthday, too, came as a complete surprise.

"What in tarnation're you doin' here?"

The figures unclasped hands, and the man in the middle, who was wearing a bright orange and lime green wizard's robe, smiled at Harry-Joe-Bob.

"Harry," he said, making Harry-Joe-Bob twitch, as that was his nickname used only by his friends when they were feeling too lazy to say his full name, "We've finally found you. I'm sorry for startling you."

With that, the old man pulled a wand out of his incredibly long beard.

"Hey! What're you--!" Harry-Joe-Bob began. He wasn't going to let some poorly dressed stranger spell him without permission.

"Harry, don't worry. I will not harm you. You see, magic is real. I am a wizard, and my magic can do practically anything you can think of. And you, my son, are too a wizard," the old man intoned, as if trying to impress Harry-Joe-Bob.

Harry-Joe-Bob rolled his eyes and stood up. They were speaking to him as though he hadn't a clue what magic was, and he wasn't going to let on that he already knew.

"What in the Sam Hill're you folks doin' here, this here's private property."

"You see Harry…"

Harry-Joe-Bob twitched again.

"You are a very special boy. And we need you. We're here to take you away to learn about real magic."

Before anyone could respond, a steely voice came, "I don't think so."

Four heads snapped to the side, and three sets of eyes widened at the sight. Harry-Joe-Bob smiled. His Pa was standing on the doorstep, a shotgun raised to his shoulder. His Ma, standing next to his Pa on the step, held a pitchfork. His parents were so cool.

* * *

Short chapter again. They'll get longer, but this was a good place to stop this chapter. Thanks so much for all the nice reviews and alerts/favorites! I'm glad y'all're liking it!

Review!!


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. I do not make any profit off of the writing of this fanfiction.

**Harry-Joe-Bob Johnson and the Adventure in England**

**CHAPTER 2**

After quite a lot of coercion in the form of threats, compulsion charms, promises, plus some roundabout answers, and then finally, finally, the truth and a binding oath, Dumbledore finally managed to talk his way in to the house.

"May I introduce my colleagues: Minerva McGonagall and Deadalus Diggle," said Dumbledore, as he politely accepted a glass of sweet tea from Harry-Joe-Bob's Ma. She might have been fit to be tied, but she was still gonna be polite.

The five adults were sat around the small round table in Harry-Joe-Bob's kitchen. It had never really been that much of an issue before, but they didn't really have that many chairs in the house. Harry-Joe-Bob had to fetch his desk chair down from upstairs for his Ma to sit on. And though she didn't really show it, Harry-Joe-Bob could tell that she was a little embarrassed at the lack of chairs in the house. They had never been one of them high-falutin' types, but that didn't mean they had no pride.

Harry-Joe-Bob himself was stood with his arms crossed, behind his parents. He could see them holding hands under the table, which, while it t'weren't really weird in itself, showed how secretly concerned they were over the situation. They hands about as often as a whore went to church. Most times it was just too sweaty.

For a while the only sounds to be heard in the kitchen were polite coughs and the clanking of glasses on the table. The Johnsons merely sat, Pa and Ma using the hands that weren't grasping to sip their sweet teas, and Harry-Joe-Bob standing behind them, staring at the invaders like a one-eyed fish.

Soon enough, McGonagall had seemingly run out of patience, as she cleared her throat and gave Dumbledore a stern look.

"Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, I apologize for any misunderstanding that may have occurred. We were not expecting to come upon this situation."

After a tense second, Ma nodded her head in acceptance of the apology.

"We come from a hidden magical world-- one so thoroughly hidden­­ that ordinary people such as yourselves don't know of its existence," McGonagall paused, gauging their reactions. To say it direct, they already knew about the magical world, and also about Harry James Potter… not that they were going to _tell _them that. So the three tried to remain impassive as the magical world was explained to themagain. ­

McGonagall, taking their silence for shock, continued, "It has remained a hidden but parallel world to yours for hundreds of years…"

Harry-Joe-Bob stopped listening at this point. He realized he would have to show them his previous magical knowledge some time soon if he really was to follow them, and then the polecat would be out of the sack.

If he wanted to be completely truthful, he would admit he also knew about the probability that Harry-Joe-Bob himself was the Boy Who Lived. He had been dropped off at an orphanage about a hoot and a holler from the farm nearabout 14 or 15 years ago by a British family claiming that his parents had died and that they didn't want nothing to do with Harry-Joe-Bob. The only other thing that was known was that his name was Harry Potter.

And really, how many British orphan wizards named Harry Potter _are _there in the world? So Harry-Joe-Bob had known that there was a _possibility _he was this infamous Harry Potter, though no one—his parents and friends included— treated him any differently because of this fact. And if he acted spoiled? That dog wouldn't hunt.

Harry-Joe-Bob tuned back in to the conversation when Dumbledore's blue eyes landed on him.

"Harry—"

"Actually, we prefer Harry-Joe-Bob, for his Pa and Grampy," Ma interrupted, glaring at Dumbledore across the table. Harry-Joe-Bob could almost imagine her expression. It was probably the one that could make even a raging bull think twice (seriously, Harry-Joe-Bob had seen it).

Dumbledore shut his mouth, coughed once, and said, "Yes, well, Harry-Joe-Bob," the old man said, trying to get back into his flow, "you are very important in our world. You see, in our world there exists one curse that cannot be blocked magically, and has instantly killed all who it has ever touched, save one…"

Here came another great pause, during which Harry-Joe-Bob rubbed his dry eyes, contemplated taking out his Gol-darned contact lenses, and nearabout forgot about the conversation entirely, "…_you_. You are known as the Boy Who Lived. You are famous, Harry…Joe-Bob."

The last was tacked on hastily, as if Dumbledore had almost forgotten his 'new' name at the end of his practiced rant. Harry-Joe-Bob knew this was where he was supposed to act surprised, but he plain just couldn't be bothered to work up the effort to pretend. _Lord 'a mercy, w_ _hat a fucking hassle. _

In actuality, the deception went even deeper, 'cause what Ma and Pa didn't even know was that Harry-Joe-Bob actually _wanted _to go. He had brung home his boyfriend for the first time last year and Pa hadn't been best pleased. In fact, he'd been spitting nails.

Call him a yaller dog, but what better time was there to experiment with his sexuality than with some away time at a British boarding school. Harry-Joe-Bob was practically salivating just imagining all those asses in school uniforms and British accents. _Yee-hah. _

Realizing that half of the room was still waiting intently for _some _kind of dramatic reaction (and really, who was Harry-Joe-Bob to deny them a show?) Harry-Joe-Bob pursed his lips and furrowed his brow.

"_What in the mother fucking tarnation?!" _he knew he'd get hell from Ma later, but it was totally worth it being able to sneak a swear word in,_ "What did y'all eat this mornin'? I swanne, ya'll're dumber'n a sack full'a hammers and twice as ugly!" _

He worked up a sound that was either a scream of frustration or a whine of shock.

He scrunched his face, which probably actually made him look constipated rather than anything else. He hoped it looked like he was about to cry. For extra measure, he even threw his arm over his face before wailing a pitiful coon-dog howl.

He stood up, knocking his chair over, and turned abruptly, pounding his way back up the stairs to his room and slamming the door shut. If they wanted him to pitch a conniption fit then he reckoned he might as well take the opportunity to take out his contacts.

After a second of silence, he could hear faint strains of _"poor dear, must be so shocked,"_ through his door.

Harry-Joe-Bob took out his contacts and went to fetch his brand new CD player from his rucksack. He was the envy of his class 'cause it only weighed two pounds was a steal at 100 dollars.

He trusted his parents to make the decision. Knowing them— and knowing the desperation of the British wizards— he would probably end up going, but with quite a few concessions on the part of the wizards. Harry-Joe-Bob just couldn't wait to see what they were.

But anyway, even though he thought it'd be mighty fun to see what kind of off the wall requests his parents would have, and how they were _politely _rebuffed, he really didn't want to see the rest of it. It was sure to take hours and he was too lazy to have to sit through all of that. Seriously, how boring. So he was going to lay here and enjoy his first day off chores in years. Hah.

00000

It turned out that Harry's parents were pistols at bargaining when they wanted to be. It also didn't hurt that the British wizards greatly underestimated both their own desperation, and the mental prowess of two Muggle rednecks. In the end, they agreed to reasonable terms after hours of discussion. It wasn't a bad deal, even though the Johnsons were still a little unhappy, because really, Harry-Joe-Bob was risking his life here.

They didn't even need the money, really. More money was always nice, but with the farm and all, they had everything they needed.

Basically, Ma and Pa wanted to be able to keep in contact with their son, and also monetary compensation. All told, they got a couple thousand US Dollars a month as 'compensation for work lost' and for 'mental anguish,' seeing as Harry-Joe-Bob would be gone so far for so long. In addition, Harry-Joe-Bob's parents wanted an account set up in which their son would get paid for the 'work' he was doing for the British wizards. As far as they saw it, getting paid double time weren't no crime.

They also got monthly visits from their son; regular, easy communication; a secure and private floo; an international owl; and all expenses paid in addition to some other things.

The most interesting part, which had Harry-Joe-Bob as surprised as if a sheep had bit him, was when his parents requested not only that the underage ban on magic be removed from him, but that Harry-Joe-Bob also get immunity from punishment.

It raised a great conniption fit in the visiting wizards to realize that they had been duped the entire time, and that the Johnson family was already aware of magic. Harry-Joe-Bob supposed that they didn't really take the whole America's-magic-system-is-more-open thing to heart. Seriously… _hello, Native Americans? _

Anyway, in the end, the ban was lifted, but no immunity given, which was to be expected. He was given a lot of freedom nonetheless, and also had been given the promise to be well informed in terms of the situation in Britain, so he could make choices. Harry-Joe-Bob figgered both were important for him to be able to effectively lead and be listened to, if that was really what he would be doing.

In exchange, two days after his 17th birthday (he had to have time to recover, after all), Harry-Joe-Bob would go to England. He would enroll in their school, and in addition to that, be trained outside of school hours by pretty much whoever they could find. It was a schedule he was used to, already having to do his chores, go to normal school, and also go to Wizarding school on weekends on top of all that.

Bottom line was, in return for all the money and stuff, Harry-Joe-Bob would basically be their weapon-cum-leader until Big Boy V was killed. Well, they used the word—_neutralized—_but Harry-Joe Bob figgered it was all the same anyway.

000000

A plumb tuckered-out Harry-Joe-Bob stood two days after his seventeenth birthday in the living room of his house. He had a suitcase and a duffel full of his things; namely too-small t-shirts, though there was a couple jars of Ma's best rhubarb jam in there too, to be as a gift. Never let it be said that Southerners ain't polite. And anyway, if he gave them jam they'd surely share with him, and so he'd still get some, too.

Having already said goodbye to Samantha and his pony, Dub, he now only had to wait for the High-falutin' foreigners.

Harry-Joe-Bob's teary-eyed Ma stood in his Pa's arm, cryin' and slingin' snot into a hankie she'd embroidered herself. Pa, though never one to be emotional, stood patting Harry-Joe-Bob's arm, his eyes suspiciously glassy.

While there'd never been a shortage of love in the house, they weren't a very openly emotional family. But it seemed that perhaps the reality of the situation had finally sunked in for Ma and Pa. They were sending their son—their only child—off to lead a magical war. And while magic was something they understood to an extent, and accepted as part of their son's life, the virtual limitlessness of magic scared them, when applied to things that might-could harm their son.

Harry-Joe-Bob looked at his Pa, who looked just about ready to give him a hug, when the fireplace flared to life with a kelly-green flame.

The three Johnsons looked at their fireplace, which admittedly was more than a little small for a fully grown man, to see Dumbledore step out of the gate. He pulled out a wand and, slick as a snake, spelled hisself clean of ash and soot.

Just then the fireplace flared green again and a portly, balding man stepped out. He had red hair and looked around their living room with interested, wide eyes. The expression rather made him look half a bubble off plumb. He had a toothy, nervous smile on his face, and Harry-Joe-Bob could tell his hands were shaking by the fluttering of the fading porkpie hat clutched in his hands.

Dumbledore spelled the man clean with easy familiarity.

"Oh, thank you Albus."

"It is my pleasure."

Dumbledore turned to the three Johnsons, who still stood still as scarecrows in their living room.

"What's with Boy-howdy?" Harry-Joe-Bob said.

His Ma shot him a dirty look. _Oh, shit. _He was still in a little trouble from his fake hissy fit the first day the city slickers came by.

"May I introduce my friend Arthur Weasley. Harry will--" here, Harry-Joe-Bob interrupted with a cough, "excuse me, Harry-Joe-Bob will be staying with him and his family for the duration."

The three Johnsons all howdied the man.

"Arthur has seven children, I do believe H… Harry-Joe-Bob will enjoy it there."

Harry-Joe-Bob actually wasn't sure how he felt about being in a house full of strangers.

"We also have arranged for you to have this set of long-range two-way mirrors." Dumbledore pulled out two fair-sized hand-mirrors, real pretty and laid in wood carved in the pattern of flowers, with a stem and leaves for the handle. One he handed to Harry-Joe-Bob and the other to his parents.

"In regards to your compensation," Dumbledore continued, "I will set up an account for you at Gringott's and have the fees deposited into your account on a monthly basis."

"Hey now, what the durn good will it do us thurr?" Harry-Joe-Bob's father said, his accent becoming stronger with his agitation, "We cain't use it here. We ain' agwine fetch it. Y'all are agonna find a way fer us to git that-there money from here, ya hear?"

Dumbledore briefly looked disappointed. Harry-Joe-Bob suspected that one of his plots had been foiled. Served him right, too.

Once he thought about it, it musta been that he had been hoping to get Harry-Joe-Bob and his family more into the British Wizarding world by forcing them to interact with it on a monthly basis. Weren't that a dad-gummed failure.

Dumbledore recovered and by the time Harry-Joe-Bob tuned back in, he was saying "…will be provided when he arrives in England. I'm sure you'll want to hear from him when he arrives. As for the visits, I suppose we'll see as time goes on."

"Wow, did you get stupider since the last time we saw you, or what?" Harry-Joe-Bob said, though no one heard him since his words were spoken over by his Pa. It also mighta been that no one heard him since he had spoken just a little above a whisper. He was still standing next to Ma, after all.

"Now hold on a Gor-damned minute," Pa said, "We agreed to monthly visits. That means—"

"Oh yes, I'm sorry," Dumbledore interrupted. "I'm an old man, you see. I easily forget… Once a month, was it?"

Harry-Joe-Bob supposed that Dumbledore either had to be three pickles short of a quart, or just had a load a gumption to be constantly underestimating his parents like this. Especially after the negotiation session they had had a few weeks before.

"Yeah. That'd make the next visit in September."

"August 30th then, if that suits your needs?" Dumbledore said, twinkling. After a pause he continued, "Well, it's nearing supper time in England so I'm afraid we must be going. I'm sure the Weasleys are all anxious to meet Harry…Joe-Bob."

Harry-Joe-Bob and his parents traded anxious looks, minds all racing to think of something to prolong the moment.

Pa stepped up and ruffled Harry-Joe-Bob's hair. His Ma, face scrunched up, pulled Harry-Joe-Bob into a crushing hug that smooshed his face into her shoulder. She looked about ready to cry. Harry-Joe-Bob felt as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

"I've already set up the floo, so if you'll just take some floo powder," Dumbledore said, holding out a small tin to Harry-Joe-Bob.

Harry-Joe-Bob reached out a tan hand slowly, very slowly. He took a generous pinch.

"The address is 'The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, England."

The pinch still in his hand, Harry-Joe-Bob turned to his Ma and Pa and gave them one last hug. He took up his suitcase, and with a longing glance, left his home.

* * *

AN: I have been asked to clarify by a couple people on the subject of Harry-Joe-Bob's stature. He isn't fat. He is a high schooler, who is just big for his age group. Think of someone that eats three square meals a day but works on a farm. He is muscular, but the muscles aren't defined or popping out. It might be easier to think of it in terms that he still has his baby fat.

Please review!!


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. I do not make any profit off of the writing of this fanfiction.

**Harry-Joe-Bob Johnson and the Adventure in England**

CHAPTER 3

Twenty hours later, Harry-Joe-Bob was finally able to extract himself from the constant badgering of the twins and Ron, the friendly but empty smiles from Bill and Charlie, and the silent stalking of Ginny. He knew he was hot, but Lord a' mercy, he was getting downright tired of it all. So he hid in a closet. Harry-Joe-Bob thought it appropriate. He snickered.

But that was beside the point, so he tapped the closet's _Everlight _on and pulled out his two-way mirror to Ma and Pa.

"Ma." He would bet his pony, Dub, that Ma had somehow connived Pa into letting her carry the mirror around.

"Ma! It's me!"

Suddenly, the mirror flashed to life with the face of his Ma.

"Son! Hey now you hold on, yer Pa's just pert' near."

She held the mirror while taking a huge breath. Harry-Joe-Bob hastily pushed the mirror against his chest, hoping to muffle the oncoming sound.

"**PAAA**! PA! Git in here, our son's a-callin' on the mir'!"

A few seconds later, he heard the confused voice of his Pa, "Son. Son? Ma, I thought you said Harry-Joe-Bob was on the mir'."

He brought the mirror away from his chest and was welcomed with half the faces of both of his parents. They were skwushed together, Pa's cap crooked with being pushed up from Ma's head.

"Hi Pa, Hi Ma," Harry-Joe-Bob said. Mercy, he missed them already.

"Harry," they said, using their affectionate nickname for him, "How are things there?"

"It's okay. That floo trip was bad. Never done an international floo trip before. I got here and Molly, the mother, was all a-fluster. She wouldn't stop giving me hugs. This family's huge, Ma! It's crazy. There's Molly and Arthur, the mom and dad, and Bill and Charlie, the two oldest, but they're hardly ever here. They can't seem to know what in the world to make of me. And then there's the twins, and they won't stop pestering me with questions and joking around, Ron does too. Asks questions I mean. And then Ginny, think she's in denial I'm gay. She keeps following me around all moony-eyed like a hounddog on a beefsteak."

Harry-Joe-Bob's parents responded, but he was too busy counting on his fingers to listen to their condolences. He just felt like complaining anyway.

He was missing one. He figgered it was easy enough in a family the size of the Weasleys.

Who was he missing?

Oh right, that high and mighty Percy.

"Oh yeah, and then there's Percy. He never comes down offa his high horse, so I forgot about him. 'S better 'n if he was like Ron or Ginny though." After a pause, Harry-Joe-Bob continued, "How's the farm?"

"Good. We're pondering hiring some help, to fill in while you're gone. It's just too much work for us now," said Ma.

"Yeah, there's loads of people that'd be willing to help. John-John would. Or put an ad in The Telegraph."

"We might just. Dub and Samantha already miss you terribly."

His Pa spoke up, "They both were all sorts a confused when I went to feed 'em this morn'. Now Samantha's just wallowin' in the mud, won't even git up."

Harry-Joe-Bob felt a weight in his heart. He had never gone a day without seeing Samantha or Dub since they had been bought. With his chores on the farm, he couldn't just get away like any normal kid, he had responsibilities to think of.

Harry-Joe-Bob continued talking to his parents, even though he had only been gone less than 24 hours, he still felt like he was missing out on a lot.

But soon enough, he heard his name being shouted through The Burrow.

"HARRY! Er… JOE-BOB… HARRY-JOE-BOB!"

Harry-Joe-Bob turned to his Ma and Pa, speaking quietly and rapidly so his super-secret hidey spot wouldn't be found out, "Ma, Pa I gotter go, someone's a-callin' and I don't want them to find me in here."

"Alright, well you take care, ya hear?"

"I love you Harry-Joe-Bob," said his Ma.

"Love ya'll, too."

Harry-Joe-Bob quickly shut off the mirror before listening at the door to make sure no one was standing outside of it. He snuck out quick as a pistol and went down the rickety stairs.

"Hey ya'll, someone been hollering for me?"

Ginny and Ron, who had each been looking for him, both looked up, puzzled expressions on their faces. The confused _where were you? _expressions quickly melted into adoring expressions.

"Yeah, dad's been looking for you. He's in the kitchen," they said, before following him into the kitchen. Harry-Joe-Bob shot them both a dirty look over his shoulder, but the effect was lost because they were both following so close they couldn't see it.

Harry-Joe-Bob snorted and ignored his nosy shadows.

"Mr. Weasley sir, you wanted to see me?"

"Oh, Harry, uh, Joe-Bob, I was meant to take you today to Diagon Alley to buy your school things and then the Ministry to register you."

Harry-Joe-Bob wasn't sure what to think about having to register himself at the ministry but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Okay, when do you want to go?"

"Uh, if you're ready now…"

"Sure, let's go," he said, quickly checking his reflection in a pot hanging nearby.

000000000000000

Hours later, in a brand-new set of robes, courtesy of Dumbledore (though the old wizard probably didn't mean for him to buy some of the most expensive robes in the shop when he agreed to have all Harry-Joe-Bob's expenses paid), Harry-Joe-Bob walked through the Ministry of Magic. Even though it was ostensibly to register Harry-Joe-Bob in England, he had yet to see any sort of registration going on.

Actually, they were seemingly currently going through the entire ministry, floor by floor. Currently, they were on level four, having made their way up levels seven, six, and five… presumably on their way to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which was on level two(1).

They were walking along one of the main corridors of the floor, Mr. Weasley pointing out offices, people, and various plaques along the way, when Harry-Joe-Bob saw _him. _

And by _him, _he meant the most manly, gorgeous, heart-stopping man ever.

The man was tall, probably over two meters, with shortish silver colored hair, smouldering whiskey-colored eyes, ruggedly masculine features, and long, long legs. Harry-Joe-Bob let his eyes trace the line of the man's broad shoulders and chest that narrowed down to a slim waist. The body belied the pure strength the man must have.

The man stalked past an unawares Mr. Weasley, who was currently pointing out a picture of a group of men, before reaching Harry-Joe-Bob.

Harry-Joe-Bob noticed his nametag, which read:

_Fenrir Greyback_

_Werewolf_

_Activist_

Which he took to either mean that the man was a werewolf and, separately from that, also an activist, or that he was a werewolf activist. He didn't find himself minding much either way.

(It was different at least from Harry-Joe-Bob's own nametag, which, due to the inevitable pause between his first, and second- and third-parts of his given name, was given a name tag that said:

_Harry Joe-Bob-Potter_

_Visitor_

As in, _first name Harry, last name Joe-Bob-Potter…_ Harry-Joe-Bob decided to keep quiet about the fact that his last name was actually _Johnson,_ as it had been too late to say any thing anyway by the time it printed)

But the man, _hoo-ee,_ what a _man. _He was currently standing in front of Harry-Joe-Bob, maybe a little too close to be considered polite, passing an amused glance over his nametag.

"So, Mr. Joe-Bob-Potter," _Fenrir _said, with not a little amusement.

"A-" Harry-Joe-Bob coughed lightly when his voice got caught in his throat, "Actually, it's Johnson. Harry-Joe-Bob Johnson."

The _man _licked his lips _(hooboy!)_ and leaned in even further. Harry-Joe-Bob could feel his warm breath puff on his face.

"It's a pleasure," Fenrirrasped.

Harry-Joe-Bob said something that he would later tell people was "No, no, the _pleasure_'s all _mine,_" but actually was more along the lines of "eeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiihhhhhhhhh."

The taller man leaned back, just enough to say "My name's Fenrir."

Before Harry-Joe-Bob could say anything else he heard, "Harry? Harry?" from up ahead.

Mr. Weasley, who had kept walking without realizing Harry-Joe-Bob was not behind him, could be heard returning down the hallway.

Fenrir glanced around before pulling the younger man bodily into a conveniently placed niche in the hallway.

"Well, this sure is convenient," said Harry-Joe-Bob.

His heart began to beat a rabbit's pace.

He could hear Mr. Weasley asking in every office along the hallway for him, each moment getting closer and closer.

He could hear each footstep pounding along the hallway towards them, but then again maybe it was his heart. He sure as humdiggy doubted it would be a very good thing to be found in a dark corner with Fenrir.

Fenrir turned to Harry, his eyes seeming to flash amber as he leaned in.

"_Mine," _he growled.

Fenrir's body pushed Harry-Joe-Bob against the wall and pinned him there. Harry-Joe-Bob felt light-headed.

Fenrir leaned down, sniffing Harry-Joe-Bob's scent as he swiped his tongue along the younger man's neck.

For a second, Harry-Joe-Bob supposed he ought to be fighting this, but that thought was thrown out the window quicker'n snoose through a goose when Fenrir placed a series of small nips at his earlobe.

"You're mine," he repeated.

He could hear Mr. Weasley getting closer to their location, and knew that both he and Fenrir were both acutely aware of the situation.

Fenrir stepped back from his body and crept deeper into the nook they were stood in. With his dark robes blending into the shadows, only the man's amber eyes, the bridge of his nose, and brow showed in the darkness.

"The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole," Harry-Joe-Bob whispered, before stepping out into the hallway.

Harry-Joe-Bob smiled his first real smile in what felt like days. He had come here for some _exploration, _and he had found it, not even 24 hours after he had arrived. How was _that_ for accomplishing a goal?

* * *

(1) I forgot what the format of the Ministry is. I gathered from Harry Potter Lexicon that the entire Ministry is underground, with the first level being at the top, and the tenth at the very bottom. The atrium where the entrance is, according to the site, is on the 8th level. Therefore they'd be making their way slowly up, though still underground.

Also, while Harry could be registering in a number of places, I chose the MLE because registration in China is done at the local Police station.

AN: Sorry for the delay, I've been meaning to update for a while, but the internet in like, all of China was pretty fucked for about a week, give or take, and then I've been working the last three weekends in a row. Augh.

Please review!


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. I do not make any profit off of the writing of this fanfiction.

AN: I'd like to reinforce the fact that this is an adult rating. This chapter doesn't really have anything yet but future chapters will. Maybe.

**Harry-Joe-Bob Johnson and the Adventure in England**

CHAPTER 4

Three days later, Harry-Joe-Bob was in bed sleeping like a good little boy. Okay, actually he was taking advantage of the time that his roommate, Ron, was asleep and masturbating.

Anyway, he was in bed and it was night time and he was laying down at least. That was pert near close to sleeping, in his book anyway.

His teenaged pursuits were interrupted when a loud smack came at the window.

Startled, Harry-Joe-Bob looked out the window and covered himself hastily. The window had the sash pulled down, luckily.

Tentatively, he pulled up his pajama bottoms and crept, low and slow like a hunting bobcat, towards the window. He pulled up the sash. Outside he found a rather bedraggled looking owl. It looked… ruffled and mighty afraid.

Harry-Joe-Bob opened the window to let it in. It stayed on the ledge. Sighing, he quickly checked the nearby forest for anyone before leaning out the window to unattach the letter tied to its leg.

The letter was wrinkled in the oddest way Harry-Joe-Bob ever did see. It was as if someone had tried unsuccessfully to fold it and got angry part way through. It was actually a little adorable in a weird way. He opened the letter to read by the moonlight near the window.

It read:

_Beautiful,_

_Meet me in the forest outside. Now._

_Fenrir_

Harry-Joe-Bob's heart skipped a beat, before trying to make up for the loss by pounding something fierce. He recollected that name from earlier. _Fenrir. _

He looked out the window again and saw that someone had stepped out into a moonbeam at the edge of the forest1 .

Seeing he had Harry-Joe-Bob's attention, Fenrir—for he could now tell who it was—beckoned. Lord almighty, who was Harry-Joe-Bob to disobey? He nodded, though he was not entirely sure the gesture was seen, before throwing a quick glace at Ron.

The redhead continued to saw logs louder than a lumberjack, his nose making a whistling sound in accompaniment.

Harry-Joe-Bob hurriedly pulled on shoes and tip-toed out the door.

As he closed the door to Ron and his room, the landing gave a great ole creak. He froze, holding his breath, and listened to the symphony of snores that reverberated through the house. None of them paused.

Quickly, he made his way down the stairs. He was chomping at the bit and trying to hustle but probably was loud in his haste.

Finally, finally, he was outside and skedaddling across the lawn. He dodged a foraging gnome that skittered across his path. Fenrir still stood where he had been before. Harry-Joe-Bob stole up to him. This close up he could see that Fenrir wore calf-length short pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt with the arms rolled up. Harry-Joe-Bob noticed he wasn't wearing shoes. It lent his overall look a sort of earthy, sexy appeal, in his opinion anyway.

As soon as he was in front of the man, face to face, he didn't rightly know what to say or do. It seemed awfully familiar or presumptuous to hug or kiss the man, but at the same time too formal and cold to offer a handshake. They had, after all, had that rather intimate moment in the hallway of the Ministry.

Fenrir, evidently not having the same dilemma, grabbed Harry-Joe-Bob by the shoulders and pulled him into a brief but passionate kiss.

0000000000

Fenrir rather enjoyed the surprised look on his beautiful boy's face upon being pulled into the kiss. He allowed his tongue to caress the young man's once, twice, three times, before pulling away. Harry-Joe-Bob had a rather dazed expression on his face that Fenrir reveled in.

After a few minutes, after Harry-Joe-Bob had caught his breath, he finally had the presence of mind to ask, "What took y'all so long?"

Fenrir growled. He as a general rule didn't take wizarding transportation, though he knew the teen didn't know that.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

He would have said the truth—that he had to delegate responsibilities in his pack first, before running all the way here—but that would have felt too much like an excuse. And he was a fucking _alpha_. He didn't give excuses.

He turned and led Harry-Joe-Bob into the clearing he had been planning to use as his temporary home. It had a fallen tree in it, a stream nearby, and patches of grass dotted with leaves covering the ground.

"How long'll y'all stayin' for?"

"I don't know yet, boy." Fenrir said gruffly. Truth was, he wanted to see how things went with Harry-Joe-Bob first before making any plans.

"Well, I reckon I'll be staying here till the tail-end of August. Then I've got school. It's one of them high-falutin' boarding schools. Somewheres up north, I guess."

_Why was the boy talking so much?_ "I know, kid. Everyone knows about Hogwarts."

"Oh."

Fenrir didn't like the dejected expression that came over Harry-Joe-Bob's face. He had never really been too good with small talk or being friendly in general. Now was the first time he found himself actually regretting that fact.

Though, regret or not, he still couldn't bring himself to actually apologize. Especially to some cub.

So he did what he could, and leaned in and kissed Harry-Joe-Bob on the corner of his lips.

The teen turned his face and kissed him back, briefly.

"I suppose can stay till August," the '_if you'd like' _went unspoken. He would never say it.

Fenrir didn't give the boy time to respond. He leaned in for another kiss. Or three. Before he knew it, his hand had creeped into the teen's pajama pants, cupping Harry-Joe-Bob's bubble but beneath his underwear. The round flesh was smooth and pliant under his palm.

Both of them had erections. Harry-Joe-Bob was rubbing his licentiously against Fenrir's thigh. He had one hand gripping Fenrir's shoulder and the other was trapped between them, resting on Fenrir's strong chest.

Fenrir began to inch down the pajama pants, wanting to get to his prize. Before he could get very far, Harry-Joe-Bob ended the kiss and trapped Fenrir's wandering hand against his body. He looked ruffled, turned on, but not a little wary.

"'M sorry. Not yet."

Fenrir squeezed the flesh under his other hand and dove back in for another kiss. No one had ever said no to him before. Not seriously, at least.

But the infernal boy pulled back again.

This time he had a fire in his eyes.

"Lord 'ave mercy! 'M serious, Fenrir. I'm not going to lose my virginity in some God forsaken woods. I ain't agonna go back tonight with scratches on my hands and knees and mud on my face. I plumb refuse."

Fenrir growled. His beautiful boy was a virgin. He would be the first and only to take that ass. _Excellent. _

"Hells bells!" Harry-Joe-Bob said, misinterpreting the growl, "Fenrir, I— "

"Shut up," He paused, waiting for Harry-Joe-Bob's surprised silence, "We won't do that tonight then. Alright? I promise. Just shut up and let me…"

He had pulled his hand out of Harry's pajama pants, but immediately placed his hand back where it had just been, on his ass. Harry-Joe-Bob looked skeptical, but allowed the touch.

Realizing he would have to take it slowly, at least at first, Fenrir began pressing him with closed-mouth kisses. As Harry-Joe-Bob slowly started to respond, he pulled away, nosing down his neck and back up to his ear. He took the teen's earlobe into his mouth.

Harry-Joe-Bob moaned.

Fenrir bit sharply at the teen's lobe, eliciting a quiet squeak. He soothed the hurt with his tongue, which he was happy to hear earned another moan.

Fenrir continued the pattern of nips and soothes down the teen's neck, and by the time he had made his way to the bottom, he was happy to feel an erection being rubbed hotly against his thigh.

He wanted more than anything to reach down and take it in his hand, but didn't want to push it for the second time in one night.

If he had been in a state of mind to think about it, he would have been surprised at his own sense of decency.

So instead he moved both hands to Harry-Joe-Bob's buttocks, massaging them, spreading them, and using them to roughly push the teen's groin against his own.

He briefly took one hand off to take Harry-Joe-Bob's hand that was still pressed against his chest and guide it between their bodies and into Harry-Joe-Bob's pants. It had been almost an entire two weeks since Fenrir had last had sex, and he wouldn't have any trouble getting off on his own. Tonight was about the boy, about earning his trust.

Harry-Joe-Bob quickly caught on and began to stroke himself, still pressed against Fenrir's body.

In very little time, Harry-Joe-Bob was coming into his own hand. Fenrir quickly leaned back to take in the expression on his face, and listen to the wondrous sounds that the teen made as he came.

The scent of sex filled his nostrils and he frotted against Harry-Joe-Bob for half a minute before his own orgasm hit him.

Later, after both of them had cleaned up marginally, they lay together in a beam of moonlight in the clearing. Harry-Joe-Bob rested his head on Fenrir's hard chest while they had a quiet conversation about how Harry-Joe-Bob had come to England.

Eventually, Fenrir decided that the teen should go back into the house or fear being discovered missing. The sun was starting to lighten the sky, and if he waited too much longer to sneak in, he might risk being heard.

He nudged Harry-Joe-Bob out of his half-asleep trance and sent him off with a pat to the backside.

"I'll be here tomorrow."

* * *

(1) I know that the movie has The Burrow in a field of like corn/wheat or whatever, but in my head they live between a forest and the small village of Ottery St. Catchpole.

Again, sorry for the delay. Real Life, blah blah blah. I'm sure no one cares. Anyway, this was supposed to come out ages ago, and then I kind of forgot. Then I wanted to publish it a couple days ago cause Aisling was having a bad day, but sometimes I do actually do work at work. Go fig. Hope you like the chapter!

Review!


	6. Chapter 5

Dislcaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. I do not make any profit off of the writing of this fanfiction.

AN: The next couple of chapters will just be a series of interconnected snapshots in time that will have undefined time jumps in between.

**Harry-Joe-Bob Johnson and the Adventure in England**

CHAPTER 5

It weren't a far piece before Harry-Joe-Bob ended up getting a job. It was _not_ because of some misplaced sense of duty, or to pay any one back any money or nothing. Shore-nuff, Harry-Joe-Bob just wanted to get out of the damn Burrow.

He had hours after training to while away, anyway. He felt as busy as a one armed paper hanger. His trainers came in the morning, seeing as they all had work to go to. It was a good thing he was used to waking up early at the farm, as he had to get up a good four hours before anyone else in the house. Then, he would do any reading his trainers left for him before dinner(1). After dinner, Harry-Joe-Bob would walk to town and come back later, in time for supper.

Ottery St. Catchpole, the nearest town, was still nearbout a 30-35 minute walk away. Close enough for a good stroll, but far enough away that Mrs. Weasley didn't allow Ron or Ginny to follow him. He imagined she would have liked to tell Harry-Joe-Bob that he couldn't go, either, but she wasn't his Ma and there weren't nothing she could say otherwise.

The town itself, for all that it served a large area, was actually very, very small. Harry-Joe-Bob was used to small, but this town wasn't big enough to cuss the cat in. Harry-Joe-Bob thought it had something to do with the convenience of magic to repair, create, and transport.

Come to think of it, there was no way anyone in their right mind would call the stores grouped together anything like a 'town' at all. They were more like buildings that happened to be next to each other. Because really, how was a pub, a general store, a small gardening shop, a grocer's and _Mrs. Cuddy's Tea Cozy_ supposed to be a town at all?

Our intrepid Harry-Joe-Bob found employment at the general store though he occasionally ended up lending a helping hand at the pub next door, as it was owned by a son-in-law of some sort.

The first day, Harry-Joe-Bob wandered into the store, all tilty on coltish legs. Old Man Downey had immediately recognized him—in a "Hey, I actually _don't _know who you are" kind of way. One thing led to another and somehow after he had gotten over the relief of renewed anonymity, Harry-Joe-Bob found himself in the stockroom, moving and unpacking boxes.

(1) By dinner, I mean lunch-- for all you non-southerners out there.

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It took Fenrir two days to cotton on. Not like it was a test or nothing…

"Was wondering where in the Hell you'd snuck off to," Fenrir said, instead of a greeting.

"Took you long enough," Harry-Joe-Bob ribbed in reply.

To tell the truth, he was actually a little surprised that it had taken the werewolf this long to find him. Man had the senses of a coondog.

"It took me exactly the right amount of time, boy," Fenrir growled.

Harry-Joe-Bob's smile slid from his face as he took in the scowling countenance of the other man. He pursed his lips and straightened a stack of candies next to the cash box, if only to have something to do.

Fenrir huffed.

"So, you got a job," he said.

Harry-Joe-Bob was going to take _that_ as an unspoken apology.

"Sure did. Figured'd be nice to get out of that dagnabbed hell hole of a house."

Fenrir grunted, staring off at the display behind Harry-Joe-Bob and flicking his eyes over at the boy—there and away, before finally settling his peepers on the air next to Harry-Joe-Bob's ear.

Harry-Joe-Bob chewed the inside of his lip, continuing to unconsciously fiddle with the candies.

"Strange weather we're having."

Harry-Joe-Bob kicked himself—weather, what the holy Hell?

"What?"

He sucked his lips into his mouth for a tense second. "Nevermind."

As luck would have it, at that moment, some customers came into the store and Harry-Joe-Bob used the moment to rush away quicker than a barncat to help. But he could still feel Fenrir's eyes boring into him the entire time he was with a customer.

"That will be eight galleons, six sickles and a knut, sir."

The werewolf was stood off to the side of the counter, his hand on the shelf, staring fixedly at Harry-Joe-Bob. He might as well have had a paw up like a pointer, for all that he was staring. Any normal day Harry-Joe-Bob loved attention, but all the staring was kind of starting to give him the willies. And then there was the fact that in between all the staring, Fenrir was glaring daggers at each patron.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, Old Man Downey chose that moment to come in from the back. Harry-Joe-Bob started. He hadn't even known that his boss was here at all.

"Excuse me, are you going to buy anything?" he asked Fenrir.

Fenrir shifted his eyes from Harry-Joe-Bob to look at the man, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"No."

"Then I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You have to be a paying customer. No loitering."

Tension filled the air. Harry-Joe-Bob stiffened.

Who knew how Fenrir would react. Judging by the look in his face, he was madder than a wet hen.

After a few more moments, Fenrir grunted, "Fine."

He grabbed the nearest, cheapest thing: a Lawler's Never-Out Candle (_Never out! Won't cause fires! On sale now!—_though they were on sale since what looked like 1940), and waved it in front of the old man's face.

"This good enough?"

Old Man Downey's face wavered, a little pinched. But it seemed he knew when to call it quits.

"That'll do."

Fenrir spun and plunked the candle down on the counter.

"Two knuts," Harry-Joe-Bob said.

Grumbling like an creaky mill and mix, Fenrir pulled out an old leather money sack, his jaw set to twitching again. Harry-Joe-Bob idly wondered where he got the money. He would later find that Fenrir was a fount of silence on the issue.

"Here." Fenrir thumped the money on the counter. He looked at Downey. "_Happy_?"

"Harry-Joe-Bob, the snapdragons need to be watered," Old Man Downey said, and turned to return to the back office.

000000000000000

It was a slow day in the store that day, which would have been fine with Harry-Joe-Bob if it weren't hotter than two rats humping in a wool sock. He could feel his balls stuck to his leg with sweat, even with the _Leva-Fan_ spelled on and all the windows open.

He reached down to adjust himself but it didn't do much good.

"Fuck."

Just then a shadow entered the doorway. It was Fenrir, carrying a bundle of wrapped cloth. The werewolf came straight up to the counter and heavily set his package on it.

"Are… uh… are these for me?" Harry-Joe-Bob said, sliding the shapeless bundle towards himself.

You coulda knocked his eyes off with a stick when Harry-Joe-Bob realized that he had never seen this type of body language from Fenrir before. He was rubbing the back of his neck. And… Blushing?

Taking his grunt as an answer, Harry-Joe-Bob began to untie the package. It turned out that the cloth was a worn, dark t-shirt of Fenrir's with the sleeves tied sloppily together.

He peered inside.

Inside were—lumps of clay? Dirt? …Rocks?

Harry-Joe-Bob picked one up, before realizing it was some sort of root or something.

"Uh… thanks?" Harry-Joe-Bob felt like he didn't know what to do with his face. He sure as sure didn't know what to say.

"They're truffles," Fenrir said, "You eat them."

Harry-Joe-Bob licked his lips.

"Thanks. I—I, uh, needed some truffles…" he replied, for lack of anything better to say.

The word truffles vaguely stirred an image in his mind of fancy shmancy cooking shows, of thin-shaved slices of light-colored flavor... or was he mixing that up with something else, 'cause he swore truffles were chocolate.

Fenrir didn't react, instead staring again at the space of air next to Harry-Joe-Bob's ear.

"I'll put it in m' food. Pasta or something. It sounds real good." Harry-Joe-Bob stared at Fenrir's averted eyes.

It took a couple seconds, but Fenrir finally reacted. He slid his eyes over to Harry-Joe-Bob's and grunted.

"Good," he said, gruff but with pride shining in his eyes.

Harry-Joe-Bob restrained a big ole dumb smile.

* * *

Sorry it's so short! It was just a good cutoff point. I know people probably want to hang me right now for the long wait, and I really have no excuse. That said, this chapter is for DJ Sandus, who bugged me to update a fic that I'd pushed aside for way too long. Thanks!

**Review!** --maybe it'll make me not forget that I'm supposed to be writing?


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I have no intentions to make profit from or own Harry Potter. Characters are based purely on my imagination. It's all in fun, please don't get offended!

**CHAPTER 6**

"You got three choices; this cream's fairly priced and they say it works well. I ain't rightly used it myself," Harry-Joe-Bob commented, bending to retrieve a jar.

"Sure, sure. I'll take it," the customer said, more nervous than a long tailed cat in a room fulla rocking chairs.

Harry-Joe-Bob peered up to find the man looking over his shoulder. He followed the gaze to Fenrir, who had moved away from the cash-register to eye them.

The customer didn't even bother going to the counter to pay. He just threw coins at Harry-Joe-Bob—six galleons, even though the price of the cream was only five galleons and a sickle—and hightailed it out the door faster than greased lightning.

The door was still swinging shut behind the customer when Fenrir came up next to him, fuming.

"What's got a bee in _your_ bonnet, Fenrir?"

"That fucking tosspot! He wanted you! He was staring at you!" Fenrir ranted, mumbling under his breath something about slavering dogs.

"Fenrir. He was gettin' a gol-darned _cream._"

"He was staring at your _arse_." Fenrir growled, stepping dangerously close into his space.

"For cryin' out loud, Fenrir. You can't be like this, scarin' off all the honest folks. For the last time, he t'weren't starin' at me!" Harry-Joe-Bob blustered, pressing against the shelf behind him.

Fenrir stared at his lips, his chest pressed tightly against Harry-Joe-Bob's.

"Oh, he won't be anymore. Not if he knows what's good for him," said Fenrir, then he bent his head and captured Harry-Joe-Bob's in one hell of a bruising kiss.

Fenrir's teeth nipped at Harry-Joe-Bob's. He slid his tongue in and out of his mouth, running behind his teeth and along the roof of his mouth. Fenrir's huge paw of a hand came up to grip his head and tilt it back. Harry-Joe-Bob felt like one of them bull-riders; all he could do was hang on for the ride.

Harry-Joe-Bob moved his hands, which had been clinging to Fenrir's elbows. After all, his Ma always said that _idle hands are the devil's tools. _He snuck them up into Fenrir's dark shirt, ruching the fabric up to touch his strong back.

Fenrir had just snuck his hand into Harry-Joe-Bob's pants—before, Harry-Joe-Bob would have protested, but this time he was hoping for a happy ending as much as Fenrir seemed to—when Fenrir must have heard something, because he tore away from Harry-Joe-Bob's lips and pushed him behind him.

"Fen—" Harry-Joe-Bob said, shocked.

"_Mine. _No one gets to see you like this but me."

And then at that moment, Old Man Downey came down the aisle.

"Harry-Joe-Bob, you're needed next door."

Harry-Joe-Bob, still out of breath from the amazing kiss, blinked at the man over Fenrir's shoulder.

The Alehouse, the pub next door, was owned by a man that was somehow kin to Old Man Downey. When things were slow at the store, sometimes he'd be lent out to do menial tasks at the pub. Harry-Joe-Bob t'weren't quite sure that it was entirely legal for him to be there at all, but he pitched in a hand anyway.

Harry-Joe-Bob and Fenrir went next door—the younger not quite sure how to react when the werewolf held the door open for him. Fenrir merely grinned roguishly.

He definitely wasn't surprised though, when he felt Fenrir's eyes burning a hole into his ass as he strolled towards The Alehouse.

"Kid, there's a shipment of ale that just came in that needs to be stocked and counted. Bring some of it out front, and also these pint glasses need to be washed."

The owner of The Alehouse was a stout man with an enormous beer belly and a bad back, both of which made many sorts of work difficult. Harry-Joe-Bob reckoned that they could probably use magic to transport the casks of alcohol, but Maxim swore to high heaven that using too much magic on the beers made them go skunky.

Harry-Joe-Bob figured that he got paid to basically work out, and kept his trap shut.

After casting an eye around the nearly empty pub, Fenrir took a stool by the bar.

"I'll have whatever's on tap."

While Maxim pulled a beer for Fenrir, Harry-Joe-Bob decided to wash the steins first so he could be nearby. Maxim hadn't specified the actual order to do things in, anyway.

"So where d'you hail from," he asked, pulling a pint glass from the towering mountain of dirty glasses.

Harry-Joe-Bob, well aware that they were still in public, didn't dare broach any sensitive subjects. There was a man that appeared to be drunk as a skunk sat at the end of the bar that was either very interested in Harry-Joe-Bob's glass washing, or very interested in their conversation. He couldn't rightly tell, actually.

"Wales."

"Oh, um…" Okay, so Harry-Joe-Bob didn't actually know his geography that good. Well, he knew that Fenrir didn't mean 'Whales,' at least. But was Wales a county or a country? And where in tarnation was it? "…Was it nice?"

"Yes. It had… many trees."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"So, uh… you're from America, huh?"

ooooooooo

"…No, it ain't just about leadership skills. The book's about strategy and planning too. 'S actually downright interesting."

The conversation between the two had reached a roiling boil as Harry-Joe-Bob was finishing washing the glasses. They were speaking about some of the books The Order had him reading in his "spare time."

At this point, Maxim cleared his throat from beside Harry-Joe-Bob.

"I can finish here. You best stock that ale."

Harry-Joe-Bob gave Fenrir a hangdog look, feeling bad for leaving him in the middle of a conversation.

But the werewolf merely stood up, finished off his ale, and said, "Shall we?"

The wizard was surprised that the normally standoffish werewolf even offered to help.

Fenrir must have read his expression, because he said, "Don't want you hurting yourself," before shoving past into the back.

Harry-Joe-Bob, for one, didn't mind the view of Fenrir's ass as he bent down to pick up a cask of ale.

oooooooooooooo

Fenrir followed Harry-Joe-Bob around as he swept the back area that served as a kitchen and storage area. They had inventoried the entire storage room and now Fenrir was enjoying the view and pinching Harry-Joe-Bob's rear-end every five minutes.

Now that they were alone, Harry-Joe-Bob could give in to the urge to ask something of real substance. If only he could find a way to edge it into the conversation.

"So, you're really a werewolf, then?"

Never let it be said that Harry-Joe-Bob didn't speak his mind direct.

Any worry that he might have had over the reception of such a question was quickly replaced by heart squeezes as Fenrir's face lit up.

"Yes."

"I had a school buddy that was a werewolf, but we never talked about it. He was just allus absent for the full moon."

"Shame. Should have been proud. It's a gift."

"Is it?" asked Harry-Joe-Bob, genuinely curious.

Fenrir seemed to make an effort to hold back his first reaction, instead searching Harry-Joe-Bob's face for a long second.

"Yeah, of course."

"Well, it ain't like he ne'er talked about it, I guess. He said he had a pack that lived up the road in a commune. And he was allus tired right 'round the full moon."

"Yeah, tiredness during the days around the full moon is a sacrifice—a small sacrifice, for the heightened senses and increased strength we have all the rest of the time."

Harry-Joe-Bob peered intently at the bunched muscles of Fenrir's arm. He had seen first hand the increased strength today. Fenrir could pick up an entire keg full of ale with each arm. _Rawr. _

"Really?" he asked, absently licking his lips.

Fenrir flexed, smirking, "Oh yeah."

Harry-Joe-Bob was drawn away from his admiration of Fenrir's manly (werewolfly?) muscles when Fenrir continued.

"But you have to accept who you are. No longer human. The moon only accepts the sacrifice of strength if it is done willingly."

Luckily, Harry-Joe-Bob decided not so speak on the subject of the moon having emotions or being able to accept anything at all.

"There are also other gifts," Fenrir continued.

"Like what?"

"Well, most werewolves are male."

"Really?"

Well, the two werewolves he knew were male, but that didn't necessarily mean nothing.

"Many females aren't strong enough to deal with transformations."

"And…?"

"There is a… _different_ way to ensure that lines are carried on," Fenrir said, looking intently at Harry-Joe-Bob's face.

You could have knocked Harry-Joe-Bob over with a fucking feather at this point.

Was—did he mean….

Fenrir could get _pregnant? _

Ugh, _ew. _

Harry-Joe-Bob valiantly tried not to imagine Fenrir fat, scowling and pregnant. He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to feign nonchalance.

Male pregnancy just seemed so gol-darned _unnatural. _It wasn't that he didn't want a family. He just didn't rightly think fellas had the right… _parts. _But then, he supposed if the ability came from "the moon" that it was very natural. Somehow.

"Oh," he said, trying to recover from his long silence, "that's… I didn't know that. I mean, um, that's great!"

Fenrir smiled a real smile, as if he thought so too, which was strange considering.

"Anything else I should know?"

Fenrir walked over and gave him a deep kiss.

oooooooooooooo

After the day was over, Fenrir would walk Harry-Joe-Bob back to The Burrow. Harry-Joe-Bob could run it in about 15 minutes but at the pace they set it took just about an hour.

It had been sweltering hot lately, barely cooling down even at night. Their stroll reminded him of days when it was hotter 'n Hell and you could fry an egg on the pavement if only you could muster up the energy to move.

He was gonna be late but he couldn't bring himself to care. He still felt languid from the hand-job that Fenrir had given him before leaving the back room.

"So tell me more about growing up in Wales," Harry-Joe-Bob said lightly, trying to use casualness to pull information out of the werewolf.

"Was nice. I was happy at least, that's more than I can say for many."

Harry-Joe-Bob nodded but continued walking. It was rare to hear Fenrir talk about himself at all, no way in Hell was he going to interrupt.

"We lived on the edge of a forest. My brother and I used to go hunting in the woods. We never really caught anything more than rabbits and some birds, until—" there was a pause.

Harry-Joe-Bob, fearing for the conversation, redirected it.

"You ne'er said you had a brother."

"An older brother. Faer. He died. He was killed."

_Well, shit a gold brick__. _He just had to go there and just about kill the conversation.

"So—and then—did y'all go to Hogwarts?"

"No, they don't—didn't accept people… like me."

"Oh."

"I went to Durmstrang."

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Harry-Joe-Bob, but he didn't know more than that. "How was that?"

"It was school. Durmstrang itself is on the edge of a forest, so it was easy to acclimate. Besides the weather. But cold weather doesn't affect… my kind… as much. They are also much more accepting of differences there."

"And then you graduated and then what? Got work?"

There was a momentary pause. Harry-Joe-Bob looked up from the rhythmic shushing of their feet to see Fenrir looking at him strangely. Finally he spoke.

"It is difficult for me to find steady employment."

_Oh. _Harry-Joe-Bob understood what was not said—being a werewolf, it was damn nearabouts impossible to find a job. Besides having to take time off every full moon, no one would hire a werewolf anyway. Fenrir must spend most of his time living in the wilderness with his pack—if he had one.

Harry-Joe-Bob broke eye contact and continued his stroll. He had never known how hard it was to be a werewolf. After a short silence, Harry-Joe-Bob began to talk. He might as well go even stevens.

"I... my Ma and Pa got me at an orphanage in America. I don't rightly 'member too much, but I do know what they told me. I was dropped off by an English family, I reckon 'twere my Aunt and Uncle. They said they didn't want me. That my name was Harry Potter… and… then some other stuff that people don't repeat in front of young'uns.

"I thought for years that no one wanted me. But, Ma and Pa, they love me. They're good people.

"They knew right fast that I had some magic in me. The Native 'Mericans, they see magic everywhere. It ain't a hidden thing in America like it is here. But I had to work three times 's hard as any normal folk, going to magic school and normal school, on top of tendin' the farm.

"And Ma and Pa, they supposed there was a high chance of me being this other Harry Potter. How many British magical orphans named Harry Potter can there be? I guess no one of us was too mightily surprised when Dumbledore and them came to the farm and Tom Sawyered me into fightin' their war for them. And here I am."

Fenrir, who had stayed quiet during his account, picked up his hand and kissed his wrist.

"Good." he said. But what Harry-Joe-Bob heard was, _"I'm glad you're here." _

So what he said was:

"Yeah."

* * *

Sorry sorry! I've admittedly had this written for a while. I even had it uploaded for a while but haven't posted! Life's been hectic lately... Moving countries again. ._.

Review!

Boom.


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